Jane shut out the rest of the world, focusing entirely on preparing the holiday dinner. It was only in the movies that men became saints on Mother's Day, lifting every burden from their wives' weary shoulders. In real life, you were lucky if they remembered to pick up a card.
The deviled eggs, neatly arranged in a decorative ring, were placed in the center of the table just as the doorbell rang. Forgetting her chores for a moment, Jane hurried to answer it.
On the threshold stood her mother-in-law, Martha, and her husband, Mark, both clutching massive bouquets of roses.
"Can you believe it?" Mark began indignantly. "I practically had to drag her here. She didn't want to come at all. Get in here, Mom, don't just stand there."
The petite woman entered the house, shed her coat with quick, nervous movements, and slipped into the living room. She walked over to the window and stood there, staring out as if she were in a trance. Jane, who had lost her own parents young, felt a pang of worry. She walked over and awkwardly put an arm around Martha's shoulders.
"Is everything okay, Martha?" Jane asked softly.
Her mother-in-law shook her head silently, then reached back to return the embrace.
"Don't worry, Jane. Everything is fine."
***
They sat down to eat. Mark led a toast, praising and thanking the women in his life. Jane did her best to pile the finest cuts of roast and sides onto Martha's plate, but the older woman sat distantly, lost in her own thoughts.
She refused the wine, which was unusual, and only picked listlessly at her shrimp cocktail. A few minutes later, Martha turned pale, stood up abruptly, and hurried toward the bathroom. Jane met her at the door, looking terrified.
"Are you alright? Is it food poisoning?" Jane asked, her voice trembling with concern.
Martha shook her head and led Jane into the kitchen, shutting the door firmly in Mark's face. She leaned in and whispered:
"Jane, I'm pregnant," she said with a sad, fragile smile. "The doctor said I'm ten weeks along."
Jane, clearly not expecting that particular revelation, slid into a kitchen chair, her mouth hanging open.
"How... how did that even happen?"
Martha shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. I'm not exactly young—I just turned fifty-six! I never thought it was possible at my age, and yet..."
Jane slowly began to regain her senses. "What are you going to do? And... who is the father?"
Martha looked lost. She shrugged again.
"It could be Nick Stephens, we work together... Or it might be Mike Miller, the neighbor at the lake house, remember him?"
Seeing Jane's shocked expression, Martha put her head down on her folded arms and began to cry.
"It was New Year's Eve, damn it all! We had the office retreat at that mountain resort. I don't even remember how I ended up with him after the banquet. Maybe nothing even happened, but I just don't know!"
She poured a glass of water, but her hands shook so violently that it splashed across the table.
"And Mike... he was so sweet to me. He said such beautiful things. We spent New Year's together when I went up to the cabin, remember?"
Jane, recovering from the initial blow, nodded slowly. She shot a sharp look at the door as Mark tried to peak in.
Mark had heard everything, but unlike his wife, he didn't panic. He approached problems with cold, hard practicality. He pulled up a chair and sat down with them.
"Well, Mom, you certainly surprised us. What did the doctor say?"
Martha raised her tear-streaked eyes, looking a bit more hopeful.
"I'm in good health. He said I can carry to term. Should I, do you think?"
"Why not?" Mark replied. "Besides, at the rate Jane and I are going, it'll be a while before you see any grandkids. You shouldn't have to be alone. We'll help you."
"But what if something happens to me? I'm not young. How can I raise a child alone?"
"Mom, that's what we're here for. We'll help, we'll raise the kid, don't you worry. The main thing is that you decide for yourself. We'll support whatever you choose."
Martha smiled and grew pensive, and Jane felt a renewed certainty that ten years ago, she had married exactly the right man.
***
Martha decided not to make any hasty decisions. She continued going to work, switching her wardrobe to looser-fitting clothes, but in the gossip-heavy world of an accounting firm, secrets have a shelf life of seconds.
Soon, her colleagues noticed her shifting moods and frequent trips to the restroom.
After relentless questioning, Martha gave in. She told the woman she considered her best friend. Thanks to that friend's long tongue, the entire office knew by the end of the day.
At the end of the week, as Martha was packing up to go home, her boss intercepted her at the exit.
Mr. Henderson looked at her sternly and spoke with a cold edge.
"Martha, forgive me, but when I hired you, I didn't expect my head accountant to be constantly out on sick leave. And now what? Maternity leave? It's none of my business, of course, but you should think about it. No husband, your age..."
Martha didn't say a word. She simply nodded and walked out.
The next day was supposed to be dedicated to cleaning the house, but the plans were interrupted by a sudden ring at the doorbell.
On the doorstep stood Nick and an unfamiliar woman.
"Can we come in?" The woman didn't wait for an answer, delivering a sharp cuff to the back of Nick's head. "I'm this young Romeo's mother."
Martha stepped back to let them in, but they clearly weren't staying. Nick's mother practically threw herself at Martha's feet.
"This idiot told me everything about the retreat. Please, have mercy on him. He's supposed to be married soon, and now this... We'll pay for the procedure, just get rid of it. You're both to blame for this mess!"
Martha pointed toward the door.
"Get out. This is my responsibility. Good day to you both!"
After slamming the door on the unwelcome guests, she rushed to the phone. She desperately needed to talk.
***
Martha stared out the window. How had her own child become such an unbearable burden? What was the right thing to do? Maybe she shouldn't complicate her life or the lives of others? She ended her call and started getting ready; there was only one place she felt she could get real advice.
She hurried to the local parish. She climbed the steps, crossed herself, and pushed open the heavy oak doors. Inside, she scanned the sanctuary until she saw an elderly priest. He turned from his prayers and looked at her with a somewhat stern expression.
"Have you come for confession, daughter?" Seeing the tears in Martha's eyes, the priest softened. "Tell me, what has happened? Have you done something terrible?"
Her thoughts were scattered. Not knowing where to start, she blurted out, "I have sinned, Father."
Martha rarely attended church and didn't know the proper way to confess, but she felt the weight of the moment and the kindness of this stranger.
At one point in her story, the priest frowned. "I will not give a blessing for a killing. That is a mortal sin."
Martha shook her head.
"I want this baby," she said in a quiet but firm voice.
The priest paused, looking directly into her eyes. Then he smiled.
"So, you're going to have the child? That isn't a sin; that's God's providence. You are giving the world another soul. Go now, and don't worry. you've made the right choice. You will be a good mother—and for that, your sins are forgiven. Everything will work out."
***
Inspired and full of resolve, Martha returned home. On her very first day back at work, she handed in her resignation and left the toxic office behind for good.
That Sunday, she stopped by Mark and Jane's to say goodbye. She had decided to move to her lake house full-time to avoid prying eyes. Jane tried to talk her out of it, but Martha was steadfast.
"The air is better there, you see? And there's a hospital nearby. I'll register there and just come back here for the delivery. I've thought it all through."
Mark nodded approvingly. "Go, Mom, if it makes you feel more at peace. I'll drive you up myself and chop enough wood for the season. We'll visit all the time, right Jane?"
***
Six months flew by like a single day. Martha handled the late pregnancy with surprising ease. Jane spent her weekends picking out pink onesies for the expected girl, and the weather remained unusually warm. On one of those sunny afternoons, the doorbell rang.
Standing on the porch was the neighbor from the lake, Mike Miller, holding a massive bouquet of flowers and a cake.
"Well, are you ready?" The man was visibly nervous. "We're going to be late to the courthouse. Martha looks like she's about to pop any second. We have to get this done; my daughter can't be born without a father."
Anticipating Jane's question, Mike continued.
"Yes, I know everything. Martha told me. But she's my daughter. I feel it in my heart, she's mine! And even if she isn't, it doesn't matter."
Jane and Mark hurried to the car where Martha was waiting.
The ceremony went beautifully, and they celebrated in a small, cozy cafe. By the next morning, the new bride had gone into labor—the excitement had finally tipped the scales. The father-to-be paced the halls in a panic, nearly tripping over himself, while only Mark remained calm. Despite arriving a little early, the baby was perfectly healthy.
When the family gathered for the discharge, they were in awe of the newborn. The pink bundle squirmed, let out a tiny yawn, and scrunched up its face.
Mark patted the father—who was currently gulping down a sedative—on the back, while Jane beamed at the baby.
A DNA test later confirmed the retired veteran was indeed the father, and Mike cried tears of pure joy. Jane, with tears in her own eyes, turned to her husband.
"Mark, look at how happy they are. Don't you think it's our turn?"
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